The Beauty of Disrupted Plans

I have noticed something interesting in the past few months.

Usually, I don't switch directions very gracefully. Abrupt changes of plan usually ruffle my feathers. I get frustrated and upset when what I expected hits a roadblock and is thrown in a new direction.

Until recently.

You might be tempted to think that this is just because I've been dealt such a massive blow that anything else pales in comparison...which is true...but there is something else happening.

I have started to see a better best behind the frustration of my plans.

This is changing the way I see these disruptions. Now, instead of getting mad and grousing about it all, I have started to look ahead. This usually shows me the "why" behind the gear-shift.

If I look to the result of the change, I almost always see that this different ending is actually much better than the one I had planned.

Yesterday was a good example of this.

My dear mom had agreed to go with me on a difficult errand: a fact-finding mission to the monument place...the place where you order headstones. Gravestones. I have learned that we may need to order a marker six months or more before we actually want it installed, so I need to start this process now.

I was not sure just how hard this errand would be, and it helped to have Mom along with me.

We drove to the place and started looking around. It was difficult, but not horribly so. I thought it was considerate that the people let us just look around in peace. After a while, I went to the office, to ask if they could answer some questions for me.

On the door was a note: "Working at the cemetery. Back after 2 pm. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."

My first response was an inward groan. Great. Now I'd have to repeat this difficult trek.

But then I remembered the many times lately when I have seen my frustrations in a new light. I thought about what it meant that we could not sit down with someone right away.

Oh. This was much better. Much, much better.

Mom had been telling me that there are certain kinds of stone that are not allowed at the small cemetery where our boy's ashes will go. It is located near the small country town where my mom lives. Her parents, my grandparents, already lie there, and Michael will be near them. The water there is very hard, very harsh. When they water the grass, the stones get wet, and over time they can be damaged. A dark-colored stone would look bad very quickly, due to mineral deposits from the water. Also, I was pondering the merits of stone versus brass markers, and of flat versus standing.

Not being able to sit down with the monument folks right away turned out to be a blessing. It gave me time to go to the cemetery with my mom and walk around, looking at different markers, different styles and materials, and seeing how each stands the tests of time and hard water.

Today, when I go back into town, I will feel much better prepared to discuss the options. I have a much better, clearer idea of what works well in that particular setting. I will be able to ask specific questions, because I know now what it is that I need to know.

The frustration of my plan was the best possible thing that could have happened.

It led me to the much "better best" of feeling prepared and informed for the conversation I will have today.

This is one of the many ways that I see the loving hand of God gently leading me through this valley of shadow, lighting the way and cushioning many of the blows. I fully believe that it was no accident that we went to the monument place during the one time when nobody was around.

What looked like a frustration at first glance turned out to be merciful perfection.